


two roads diverged in a yellow wood

by Anataeus



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Hints of Sibling Incest, Introspection, OOpS!, Vergil's hand slipped when carving out V, technically pre-relationship?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anataeus/pseuds/Anataeus
Summary: And I,I took the one less travelled by,And that has made all the difference.‘The Road Not Taken’, Robert FrostUrizen has a bit more of Vergil left in him than planned. This changes things.
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Kudos: 47
Collections: I am in You and You in Me (Split!Dante AU)





	two roads diverged in a yellow wood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dicksoutforproblematiccontent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicksoutforproblematiccontent/gifts).



Resting upon the large throne the recently-grown Qliphoth created for him, Vergil finds himself with nothing but time to sit and think. Since shedding his cursed humanity not long before, he has been in constant motion - to obtain the seeds, plant the tree, and begin the preparations for his coming conquests. But such things take time, he is now discovering - the Qliphoth needs to drain scores upon scores of humans to bear its fruit, and he must take time to absorb the infusion of human blood, and acclimating to the resulting boost in demonic power, the throne grants him to prepare for eating said fruit. The anticipation has Vergil in an odd mood, and he finds himself taking stock of his new being.

Frankly, he was surprised to note that he still thinks of himself as _Vergil_. He had meant to cut unnecessary memories away with the rest of the poisonous weakness of his humanity. And yet, they remained - or at least, enough for him to still define himself as Vergil, eldest son of Sparda. He still faintly recalls his childhood, though he cannot for the life of him remember the face or the name of the woman who bore him. With some thought, Vergil realizes that his strongest remaining memories are of the lessons his father imparted before his disappearance - and of his interactions with his twin. Dante.

Images flash in his mind when he thinks of the name - Dante, at eight, challenging him over and over again. Dante, at nineteen, burning with rage and power, glorious in his newfound devil form. Dante, at twenty-eight, ending the mockery that was Nelo Angelo. Each incarnation is fierce, lovely, and crystal-clear within his memories. 

The only opponent he has ever considered a true equal. The only man that the hybrid he once was had ever truly loved.

\---

Time marches forward, as Vergil sits and thinks, and thinks, and _thinks_.

Doubtlessly, his twin would attempt to interfere with the growing of the Qliphoth at some point. The man’s love for humanity - and his habit of sticking his nose into Vergil’s business, no matter the circumstances - essentially guaranteed that he would appear. Perhaps he would have even been a challenge, had he arrived sooner - but by now Vergil has absorbed enough power that he knows any battle the two of them will have is a foregone conclusion.

Meaning - when Dante does eventually appear, Vergil will kill him. Some small part of him aches faintly at that thought, a fleeting phantom pain where his human heart had once sat. Vergil scoffs into the silence that surrounds him, irritated at the emotion, and rests his head upon a clenched fist while scowling at the weakness that remains within him.

But as he continues to think of Dante, and as he tries to dismiss that lingering ache, his mind turns to the last time he felt truly powerful - when he and Dante fought the loathsome abomination Arkham devolved into within the void beneath the Temen-ni-gru. The two of them had been perfectly in sync - their shared blood singing with rightness, with **power** , as they made a fool of the thief attempting to steal their birthright. In that instant, Vergil had felt as though between the two of them there was nothing they could not do, no foe they could not utterly vanquish, if the two of them were united in purpose. 

Even now, his blood heats as he recalls the battle - to feel that again would be… _invigorating_ , to say the least. He yearns to feel that rush again - but the heat in his veins soon cools, and his mood sours further, as he accepts the fact that he never will.

A pity, he thinks, that Dante will never join him. A pity, that Dante has allowed humanity to dull his brilliance. His brother, who’s power should blaze free like an inferno, caged into a fireplace, but smoldering embers in comparison to what could have been.

And as he sits, ruminating on the fight that was and the fight yet to come, he happens to spot Yamato’s current form - a crystal pillar, spinning lazily in the air before his throne. The Yamato, capable of splitting the human from the demon - which he had himself used to carve out his own human weakness not long before.

In an instant, his earlier scowl curves up into a vicious smirk, and Vergil feels the beginnings of a plan come together. After all, was it not his responsibility as an elder sibling to help the younger? He would cure Dante of that pitiful, human ailment, and bid Dante join him in his - in _their_ \- inevitable conquest. 

They would finally be united, as they always should have been.

\---

The newly made plan to free his brother from the yoke of humanity has Vergil’s blood thrumming in anticipation. He allows himself to imagine, just a bit, the form his brother will take - Dante has always favored red and fire, so Vergil imagines that his true demonic appearance would likely keep that aspect. Would he have horns? Fins? Would elements of his Devil Trigger be kept, or would his form be entirely new?

But before he can get too deep into his imaginings, he feels a presence at the edge of his senses - the very one he has been waiting so _patiently_ for. Dante has arrived at the base of the Qliphoth - accompanied by two human auras, and a demon whose static presence he faintly recalls but cares not for. It’s harder than he thought it would be to wait - he’s eager to see his brother unchained, and to have them united as they always should have been. The minutes turn to hours, as he grows more and more impatient upon his throne and then--

Dante enters his sanctuary, and somewhere deep in the place his humanity used to be, Vergil can’t help but think…

_Jackpot._

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicating this one to dicksoutforproblematiccontent, who has been a joy to work on this au with! Without them I probably wouldn't have started to write again but damn am I glad I did


End file.
